Painted Stars in Our Hearts
by Shalla Bal
Summary: Clara learns that the Doctor has experienced a crisis and rushes to help him despite the loss of his memories of her. They embark on an adventure that reopens the door to their happiness together in unexpected ways. Twelve x Clara!
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

 **London, 2017. Spring.**

Clara fought back a wave of nerves as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and smoothed out her skirt. _Silly girl, it doesn't matter what you look like_ , she chided herself. It wasn't that he couldn't understand attractiveness or appreciate a nice outfit, of course. He'd never fooled her with that old bit! It was quite simply the absurdity of thinking he would care what Clara looked like when to him, she was no longer Clara.

And he didn't love her anymore because he couldn't remember her.

She pushed open the dark cherrywood door of the old-fashioned pub, the green stained glass windows casting dim flickers of emerald light randomly around the crowded establishment. Though it was packed, the regulars spoke in quiet tones, like a steady symphony of soothing background noise. She saw the appeal of the place. A safe haven, a pleasant enough place to tuck into a beer and a cottage pie.

Clara didn't have to let her eyes scan the room to find him. Instinctively, she knew where he was, and she was so used to his magnetic pull on her that it didn't surprise her anymore. It enticed her, and she welcomed the sensation she'd denied herself for so long.

Out of everyone there, he was the only silent person, sitting before a tall, dark glass of beer that he clearly hadn't touched. The expression on the Doctor's face was distant and melancholy. His hair was slightly disheveled, stubble dotting his face as though he hadn't looked in a mirror lately. Clad in a black t-shirt, black jacket and jeans, he could have been any middle-aged Scotsman in any pub anywhere but he wasn't; instead, he was everything. The center of her universe.

"This seat taken?" Clara asked casually, knocking on the table lightly as if it were a door. The Doctor's eyes flitted up and met hers inquisitively, surprised. He was taken aback, and straightened in his chair. Her appearance had broken him out of a contemplative trance.

"Oh, it's _you_ ," The Doctor said finally. Had it been able to, her heart would certainly have skipped a beat at the glimmer of recognition that lit up his pale blue eyes. As it was, she _felt_ it do that anyway, a crazy ghost of her former physiology Clara had become accustomed to since she'd cheated death. It wasn't real, but it _was_. Like Clara herself, she supposed.

They were lovely eyes, she'd thought since the first time she'd seen them. Back then, after the regeneration, he thought she'd resented the difference in his face, his age. She could tell. Overcome by confusion at the change, she'd tried to take a seemingly golden opportunity to break away from her love for him. To protect herself from an emotion too overwhelming to fathom surrendering to.

"I'm not your boyfriend, Clara," he'd drawled huskily in that gorgeous new voice, cutting through her heart like a cruel blade. Was he defending himself from a rejection he felt was inevitable, or did he just want to stop her from falling further before she got hurt? Whatever the case, she decided to be done with that dimension of their relationship, undeveloped and unexplored though it had been, of course. Fine, he was different now, and whatever romantic feelings she'd felt between them had ended. So she found Danny, found normalcy, longed for the strangeness she'd cast aside, lost Danny, and blamed herself for dragging him into a world never meant for nice, normal men.

She then accepted that the man she loved was neither nice nor normal. He was extraordinary, brave, brilliant and true. He was fiercely loyal and craved companionship and friendship at the same time he kept it at arms' length in the implicit knowledge that it always had to end, and sometimes the endings were too tragic to justify the beginnings.

But if anything, sitting there in front of him now after months traveling without him felt like… a new beginning.

 _Funny how life works that way,_ Clara thought with stunning clarity that raised goosebumps on her flesh. She pulled the sleeves of her black cardigan down to her wrists and rubbed her hands together. His eyes followed the motion curiously.

Clever boy.

She knew what his recognition of her referred to, even if she wished it carried a different meaning.

"It's you," The Doctor said again, slightly astonished. He managed a friendly smile, but it was haunted. "From the diner! I told you my whole story, and you listened. You were very kind. Hard to find good listeners, you know."

"I do know," Clara agreed, playing with a napkin, twirling it around the table.

"You're quite the mysterious one, aren't you?" The Doctor said thoughtfully. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms and cocked his head to one side, examining her.

She tilted her head up and met his gaze again, electricity surging through her veins. She'd missed him _so much_.

"What'd you mean?" Clara asked, slightly playfully.

"Well, you just appear here, out of nowhere, without any opening explanation on your part, I might add, when I _happen_ to be in the depths of despair, and could really use a friend. Not that I _deserve_ one, but I could definitely use one. We're a long way from Nevada, don't forget. And there you are, whoever you are. _Again_. Now, you've got to admit, _that_ is mysterious."

"Ah, I suppose it is, then, when you put it like that." Clara grinned proudly. "Mysterious. Hmm! I like the sound of that."

"Would you like to hear another story?" The Doctor proposed. His voice was heavy and profoundly sad. She wanted to leap across the table and throw her arms around her neck. She clasped the sides of her chair to still the instinct. "It's not a happy story, not a hopeful tale. It's rather depressing. I had a chance to save people but I had to make a choice. Those people's lives depended on me and I failed them. And there's nothing whatsoever I can do now to make it right. This time, there can be no redemption."

"I'll be the judge of time," Clara said significantly. "Please, tell me your story."

The Doctor rewarded her with an exhausted half smile and threw his hand up in the air, gesturing to the bartender. " _Hello!_ Get this young lady whatever she wants, please. It's going to be a long night."


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"Well, it all began with the TARDIS being hijacked," The Doctor revealed, finally taking a small, neat sip of his beer before glaring down at it resentfully. "God, how do you people drink this stuff?" He was just being grumpy. She'd also ordered him a glass of water and a plate of bangers and mash, insisting that he should eat and hydrate, though assuring him that she wasn't hungry or thirsty at the moment.

Definitely _not_ an explanation she wanted to get into with him.

"Eat up," Clara ordered crisply, in caretaker mode. "So, a TARDIS hijacking. Sounds like the kind of thing that usually happens to you about every other Tuesday or so."

"Yes, and if it didn't, I'd probably worry that I might have done something wrong," The Doctor confirmed, swirling creamy mashed potatoes around his spoon with a dubious expression. "Anyway, there I was, there _they_ were, these two alien scientists who'd snuck up on me, banged me on the back of the head with one of their ridiculous blaster-guns. It was right out of a bad episode of _Star Train_."

"You mean _Star Trek_?" Clara giggled, glad he'd had a few bites of food. Being alone was never good for him, especially in the aftermath of disaster. Who knew how long it had been since he'd eaten, or for that matter, slept.

"Whatever," he waved his hand dismissively. "You know, it was totally stereotypical, mustache-twirling space villain nonsense. Frankly, insulting. Not that they had mustaches. _That_ actually would have made it more interesting. But, no. I woke up to find that we'd landed on their planet, and they dragged me out of the TARDIS without saying a word."

"Rude," Clara noted.

"Yes!" The Doctor agreed. "Thank you — eh, what is your name, anyway? You never say." He pointed his finger in the air and observed, "See? _Mysterious_."

"Uh, you can call me…" Clara's eyes wandered the room, grasping for a name, any name, and landing on a movie poster on the opposite wall. _The Quiet Man_. Okay, then. "Maureen," she finished a little too triumphantly, showing her hand.

"You're just making that up, aren't you?" The Doctor looked behind him. "That's her, ay? Maureen?"

"It will do for now," Clara said, her tone making it clear that the subject of her true identity was closed.

" _The Quiet Man_ — what's that about?" The Doctor asked. She knew he was stalling telling her the next part of his story and played along, loving the rhythms of his habits, the quirks that defined him.

"Oh, it's brilliant. You'd like it, I think," Clara explained. "It's about this drifter, this man running away from his past, and he meets this feisty, amazing woman. And they fall in love, they just _need_ each other so much, you know? But they can't figure out a way to make it work."

"What a ridiculous idea for a movie!" The Doctor guffawed, to Clara's unspoken, pained amusement. She might as well have been talking about the two of them, but he couldn't understand that now. "I can't believe that even got made!" He laughed again.

" _Sooo_ , the alien scientists pushed you out of the TARDIS and right onto their planet, showing a remarkable and offensive lack of manners," Clara recapped. " _Then_ what?"

"Oh, that," The Doctor resumed, feigning forgetfulness so adorably that her lips twisted into an affectionate smile of their own volition. "Well, then I got really mad. Because I looked all around me, _Maureen_. The ground was all covered in this purple sand, and the wind was blowing hard. There were enormous mountains in the distance, but one of them was more than a mountain. I saw the capital city a short walk away in the other direction, and I knew where I was. The planet called Ruille. The site of a massive disaster that takes place this very year, about a week ago."

The Doctor took another sip of his beer and swallowed hard, staring into her eyes fiercely.

" _A fixed point in time._ "

"Ohhh," Clara sighed, "I hate those."

"You have no idea what I'm talking about," The Doctor replied.

"No," she lied.

The Doctor shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "It means that I cannot alter the historical fact of something happening. It would disrupt the very fabric of time and space, and it goes against everything I stand for as a Time Lord."

"Oh, dear," Clara said sympathetically, "That does pose a problem."

"Especially," he continued, "Since the planet was days away from an explosion that would destroy it, and everyone living there."

"So why did the aliens, the _Ruillians_?" He nodded as she guessed at their names. "Why did they bring you there?"

"Because if there's one thing I've learned with certainty, it's that people are stupid and selfish, and they never change."

"Rather dark of you," Clara observed softly.

"Or just observant," The Doctor said harshly. "They begged me to save their world. They knew that the end was coming soon, their enemies had told them as much, just to intensify their agony. But they didn't know where or how the event would occur. That was why they had brought me there. You see, they knew I might have said no if they'd asked properly, so hence the hitting and the stealing. I told them I was _still_ going to say no, that there was absolutely nothing I could do to prevent the destruction of Ruille."

"How was it to be destroyed?" Clara asked, her heart sinking as the story inched towards its awful ending.

"There was a volcano among those mountains, but not an ordinary one. It had been rigged with nuclear-level weaponry by the enemies of the Ruillians, who were determined to wipe out the whole race. They believed that if the Ruillians were killed, their own great destiny would be achieved, according to what their gods had told them."

"They sound like assholes," Clara remarked bluntly.

"Reductive, but apt," The Doctor agreed. "Obviously, to allow such an atrocity to be committed by murderously short-sighted zealots in a cult mentality _also_ goes against everything I stand for as a Time Lord. And you should have seen those Ruillians. Standing there, pleading for the lives of their children. Their antennae _trembling!_ " He gestured his hands about madly.

"So, you had to do _something_ ," Clara concluded, pulling her chair closer until they were almost touching. She cupped her face in her hands and rested her elbows on the table next to his almost-empty plate.

His features shifted from angry to a softer inclination she couldn't identity. The Doctor's face bore the appearance of tender emotion as he looked at her, but Clara knew he couldn't see her with anything other than friendship and gratitude.

The Doctor seemed to shake off the momentary lapse in his attention from the story, dragging his gaze from Clara and staring instead into the vague distance, at nothing in particular.

"Yes, Maureen. I had to do something. I let them take me into their city, among the people, on this, one of the last days they'd all be allowed to live. That was stupid and selfish of me. I wanted to help when I knew I shouldn't. And I never learn."

"It seemed to me," he continued, steel in his voice, after a momentary pause, "That there might be a loophole in this scenario. Perhaps, I could save the people but let the _planet_ be destroyed, therefore fulfilling its immutable destiny. A risky endeavor, but the only possibility I could imagine. And of course, it brought its own set of problems."

"Like where to put all those Ruillians?" Clara guessed, prompting him to nod.

"Exactly, Maureen. Where to put all those bloody Ruillians." He shook his head. "So, I thought of an abandoned planet nobody wanted, but it was in another galaxy. Not a problem for me, but I'd need to make a lot of trips."

"A planet nobody wanted?" Clara was surprised. "How does that happen?"

"It had been inhabited by a race of very high and mighty aliens who built an empire on other worlds and abandoned, almost entirely, their home world. A perfectly good planet, I might add, with the exception of the giant, venom-toothed dogs and the occasional drought."

"Better than having no world at all, though those dogs sound like a problem," Clara said.

"You learn to stay out of their way," The Doctor explained. "I don't think those dogs are really all that unreasonable, come to think of it. At any rate, there I was, ferrying the entire Ruillian civilization, one group at a time, to the new planet. And in their midst, enemy spies."

Clara couldn't help it. She felt the conclusion of the story coming and took his hand. To her surprise, instead of registering shock at her touch, he submitted to the contact gratefully, smiling despondently. "I told you, Maureen, I don't deserve a friend. I led those people right from one death-assured scenario to another. While I was on my way back to pick up another group of Ruillians, their enemies killed every single one I'd dropped off on the new world. Then their associates back on Ruille set off their weapon in the volcano."

"I'm sorry," Clara whispered. "I'm so sorry, Doctor."

"So you see," he said tightly, "No redemption this time. I took a bad, yet inevitable situation and made it worse by giving them hope."

"Well, what are you going to do now?" Clara asked sympathetically.

He shrugged. "Nothing. This. Drift along until one of my enemies finds me again and I'm jolted back into my usual existence. Till then, I've got nothing but time to think about what happened and how it proves I'm doing more harm than good. I don't know what I'm gonna do about _that._ "

Clara rolled her eyes and pulled him up by the elbow until he stood beside her. "Now, that's a load of nonsense. You'll do no such thing. You're going back in time to the beginning of the whole scenario, and you're going to find another way to save those people."

"Don't be absurd," He said angrily, yanking his arm free. "I already made a mess of a situation one would have _assumed_ to already be about as bleak as it can get. Now you're asking me to take another gamble on meddling with a fixed point in time and see how it comes out _this_ time? No, thank you."

She waited for him to be halfway out the door before she caught up with him. The Doctor was so startled by her sudden proximity that he backed up against the door, looking at her in total bewilderment.

"I'll go with you," Clara offered, knowing the risks, knowing why she had to put those risks aside for now.

" _You_?" The Doctor chuckled. "What do _you_ know about traveling in space and time and saving people? Come now. You could get killed as well, and we don't need that. Believe me, Maureen, this planet, the one you're on right now? It needs people like you. Good listeners. Kind friends to the slightest of acquaintances. Someone considerate and clever and _mysterious_." One corner of her mouth tugged up in a smile, prompting him to release a deep breath and relent.

"Oh, alright, fine, what have we got to lose, anyway?" He threw his hands up in surrender. "Follow me." Clara slipped her hand into his outstretched one, the feeling so natural and soul-restoring.

"Of course," she answered.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"I can't believe it!" Clara exclaimed, acting out her "first reaction" to seeing the interior of the TARDIS with enchanting aplomb, she felt.

Though surely he hadn't detected any artifice on her part, the Doctor looked unimpressed by her performance.

"Yes, it's bigger on the inside, blah-blah-blah," He put in dismissively before she could elaborate. "Let's see now…" He adjusted their course to bring them back to the correct time to avert the mass murder of the Ruillians.

Clara asked, "Doctor, just how big _is_ this TARDIS on the inside?"

"Pretty big," he answered distractingly, tinkering with the controls.

"Lots of rooms, then," she continued blithely.

"Yeah, you can go and look around if you like," he invited, as if he just wanted to give her something to do so that he could think.

"Do _you_ have a room? With a bed in it?" Clara asked, putting coy emphasis on the word "bed."

" _Excuse me_?" The Doctor looked up finally, perturbed. Ha! She'd gotten his attention now.

"Well, do you?" Clara repeated, sidling up to him until they were very nearly touching.

"Em, eh, uh, _yes_ , I mean, of course, everyone does, right? Except for this one group of aliens I met, they actually sleep in their swimming pools; advantageous to have gills, you know." He looked left, right, anywhere but at Clara, covering his confusion with nervous chit-chat. She laughed warmly.

"I was only thinking that perhaps you should get a bit of _sleep_ before we get to Ruille," Clara explained, and he released a deep breath, relieved.

"I don't need to sleep," he countered, released from the terrifying suggestion of her flirtation back to his duties.

Clara slipped her arm through his. "Don't you think you'll be a more successful savior of a whole planet's worth of aliens if you rest first? Now, which way to your room?"

"I don't know why I keep listening to you, but I can't seem to help it," The Doctor surrendered. "I guess that proves that I _am_ overtired. I've lost my common sense." He nodded in the direction of his room and she dropped him off there.

"Do you ever let your friends, or visitors, or whoever, see your room?" Clara asked, curious. He'd never shown it to her, and in fact, he seemed to have perfected a method of tricking her every time she'd tried to pinpoint its exact location. She wouldn't be surprised if he switched to another room after this. Then she remembered that they would not be traveling together beyond this mission, so he wouldn't need to bother. Sadness tainted her thoughts. She missed his games, even the ones that hurt her. It was just his same old self-defense that made him hide from her so habitually.

"Nooot really," The Doctor replied, raising an eyebrow as if the question perplexed him. She realized that he was waiting for her to leave and nodded, turning neatly on her heels.

"Goodnight then, Doctor," Clara called over her shoulder. "Sweet dreams."

"Goodnight," she caught his simple, quiet reply before she rounded the corner. She knew the tension between them had to be one-sided now, so why did it still seem to be so tangibly _there_? Like that phantom heartbeat of hers.

He woke soon after they arrived at Ruille and came into the control room stretching and yawning. "Tea?" Clara offered.

"Ah, how thoughtful. I'd love a cup," The Doctor said, rubbing his hands together.

"Great. Then how about you show me where you get tea around here," Clara laughed.

"Oh, dear, I did forget to tell you all about that," The Doctor said apologetically. "You can just ask the TARDIS for whatever you need. You must have been starving, thirsty?"

"I'm fine," Clara smoothed it over. He opened a random cabinet and pulled out a steaming cup of tea.

"Okay then!" He said with renewed exuberance, accepting her convenient reply as if he suspected nothing unusual. "What's our plan?"

"Our…plan?" Clara repeated.

"Yes, of course, Maureen, our plan to save the Ruillians. Surely, given that this whole adventure was your grand idea, you must have a brilliant scheme cooked up, right?"

He sat down and set his teacup on the console, looking over at her expectantly. Was he being snarky, or did he actually have that much faith in her based on this new, brief acquaintance?

"Well, I have a part of a plan," She offered.

"Wonderful! Let's hear it, then." His eagerness seemed sincere and it spurred her on with confidence.

"Okay, so I think what we need to do is interrogate the Ruillians until we can figure out which of them are the spies. I mean, if we root out all of the spies, then we can eliminate the threat of them killing the Ruillians on the new planet, right?" Clara watched him consider her proposal, the wheels turning in his mind.

" _Except,_ " he finally replied, "We don't know how many spies there are. The Ruillians are a small race on a tiny world, but there are thousands of them in the capital city and thousands more spread out in villages all over the place. How could we possibly find every spy within the time we have left?"

"That's what I was going to ask you," Clara admitted. "It's the only part of my idea I can't quite seem to figure out." In order to preserve her act, she had to feign ignorance of the sonic sunglasses. They obviously would be able to detect any spies hidden among the population if they could replicate enough of them. It was almost as if he was testing her to see if she was really as new to all of this as she said. How odd.

"Well, I'll tell you what, Maureen, all we _really_ need is a lot more of something we already have," The Doctor explained. "Come on, let's go and tell the Ruillians." They headed into the capital, where the highest ranking government officials and scientists were in a continual council trying to head off the impending crisis.

"Doctor!" One of the scientists, a female with pretty orange skin that flushed bright pink, came rushing over to him. "What are you doing here?"

Another scientist came running up to meet him. The man was so astonished to see the Doctor that he spluttered nonsense for several syllables before becoming intelligible. "But- I mean - how - what - why?"

"Yes, and also where, and of course, Who," The Doctor finished drily. "I know you two are very confused by my arrival, seeing as you were about to leave to kidnap me and my TARDIS and bring me back here to save your people. I decided to save you a trip."

The two aliens looked at each other in shock as The Doctor introduced them cordially to Clara. "Maureen, I'd like you to meet two of the planet's foremost experts in bioscience and weapons technology. Claxmis and her partner, Raddal."

"It's lovely to meet you," Clara assured them pleasantly. "The Doctor and I have an idea about how we can save everyone on Ruille. But we have to move very fast."

They gathered everyone around a large table so that the Doctor and Clara could pitch the idea of trying to find the traitors in their midst, then relocating the Ruillians to another world.

"I see!" Claxmis exclaimed, thrilled to hear of a feasible solution. "But how can we identify the Orison spies quickly enough to stop them coming along on the voyage to the new planet?"

The Doctor held up his sonic sunglasses and told the scientists how they worked. "I'll replicate some more so that we can begin a large-scale investigation. Like a really, _really_ speedy one. But it only stands to reason that the vast majority of the spies would be based here in the capital, so close to the site of the bomb. If we can find even one or two, we may be able to find out their whole plan, and that will save us a lot of trouble trying to find an unknown quantity of agents elsewhere."

"True," Raddal answered respectfully, "But even if we find some of them, they'll never tell us their plans. They would die first."

"Oh, don't be absurd," The Doctor said breezily. "We just have to trick them."

Clara followed his line of reasoning to its indubitable conclusion.

"Using the same tricks they used on you," She told the Ruillians excitedly.

They got to work straight away. As they had suspected, an Orison spy had ingrained himself into the uppermost government council, and had replaced the second-in-command to the capital's leader. The spy was seized, but upon awakening in captivity, he found himself being questioned not by Ruillians but by his own superior officers.

Decked out in full Orison disguises, with blue make-up and yellow contact lenses to create the appearance of the correct features, their antennae carefully concealed beneath the waves of white hair that were another necessity of their disguise, it was the high Rullian Council leader Zotos and his newly promoted, former third-in-command Leta that carried out the interrogation of this prisoner.

The spy gave Zotos and Leta's high-rank-indicating uniforms a nervous once-over and gulped. "My lieges, I see that I am in the presence of those whose authority I must ever respect, but I confess that I do not know who you are."

"That doesn't matter," Zotos retorted in a harsh tone. "What _does_ matter is that you have been compromised. The Ruillians know who you are and what you have done."

"Impossible!" The spy protested. "I've taken every precaution—"

"Still your tongue until it becomes useful again," Leta interrupted. "How can we hope to keep the other agents in play if only _one_ — the most important one — has made himself so pathetically obvious as to be found out within weeks? We'll need a full report of everything you know about the current status of the mission."

The enemy agent frowned, confused and newly suspicious. "Why should I tell you anything? How do I know you are truly who you claim to be? Perhaps you are imposters attempting to trick me."

"Would you like to test that theory back on Oris?" Zotos suggested icily. "I'm sure my superiors would be even more interested to hear your tale of complete failure. "

"That won't be necessary," The spy answered, terrified, seeming to shrink in posture.

"Can you imagine what he'd be in for, what it is that has him so scared?" Clara murmured, shuddering at the brutality at which the Orisons seemed to excel. Watching the whole scene on viewscreen with the Doctor and the rest of the council, she was impressed with Zotos and Leta's progress. Could this be the breakthrough they needed?

It was obvious enough that the spy never would have revealed a thing to any Ruillian who interrogated him with his knowledge. But faced with the threat of torture by his own people, he gave in at once. After all, he had nothing to lose but his dignity.

Soon enough, with more insinuations of the consequences if he didn't talk, the spy had been pressured into revealing plenty of key details to the Orisons' plans.

There were one hundred Orison agents woven into Rullian society. And as the man in charge of the whole operation, this spy knew every one of those names and who they were impersonating. After the interrogation, Zotos sent agents to each place known to harbor a spy so that they could be taken out of play, freeing the Ruillians to escape before the explosion. They had to be deft and swift to prevent the only Orison spies still left active, the ones in charge of setting off the weapon, from finding out that their plot to prevent any Ruillians from fleeing had been foiled. It was easy, now that the Ruillians knew exactly who was who.

"It's happening, Doctor," Clara enthused, grabbing his arm in anxious hope. "It's going to work."

They were back on the TARDIS, waiting to hear from Zotos on the results of the mission to ferret out the spies, and preparing to once again attempt transporting the Ruillians to their new home.

The Doctor collapsed into a chair and dropped his head into his hands. "I can't let myself think that, Maureen," he admitted. "I'm too afraid to believe it after what happened the last time."

She knelt before him and pulled his hands gently from his eyes. "This has to make a difference," she assured him softly.

"Yes," he agreed, oceans of ghosts swirling in his eyes, "but is it going to be enough?"

"It's never enough, Doctor," Clara said a little too knowingly. "It's a start, and that will do."

He looked down at their joined hands and back up at her. Analytically. "Thank you, Maureen."

"Don't thank me yet," Clara replied, trying not be be laid bare by the effect of his gaze.

"You're not in charge of deciding that," The Doctor smiled so genuinely that the answering happiness she felt actually hurt. There was no pleasure in this brief reunion with him that came without pain.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

It went off without a hitch. The relocated Ruillians were safely housed within the abandoned citadels of the planet's previous occupants. The climate was thriving and it was the ideal time for their arrival, as all of the naturally growing foods were ready to be gathered. The Doctor and Clara returned to the TARDIS in a mood of deep satisfaction at a job well done.

They arrived back at the pub where they had reunited the night before. "So," The Doctor began as they stepped out into the cool, refreshing spring air. "Here we are again."

"Yeah," Clara replied sadly. "That all went by so quickly." _I was afraid it might,_ she thought, already fighting back tears she didn't know if she could physically cry at the idea of leaving him again. It was worth it to accomplish what they had, but the cost to her cut sharply.

"It doesn't have to be over," he proposed lightly. Almost casually. "Why don't you come with me? Where would you like to go, Maureen?"

She smiled in bittersweet tenderness. "All of Space and Time, Doctor?" He nodded happily, innocently.

Clara walked up to the Doctor and touched his face gently. "I can't. I'm sorry."

He furrowed his brow, disappointed. Confused.

"Okay, then," he said after a difficult pause. "But how about this?" He took a couple of steps backwards, in the direction of the pub. "One more drink, for old time's sake?"

"Old time's sake?" Clara laughed. "We practically just met."

"Same difference," he quipped absurdly. "Come on, what'd ya say?"

"I say…" she answered slowly, already knowing she wasn't strong enough to resist a little bit more time with him. "Alright, Doctor. One more drink."

Obviously, that meant one drink for the Doctor and one glass of wine for Clara that she couldn't enjoy. She waited for his back to be turned and sloshed half the glass over the side of the bar, smoothly tossing a towel down on top of the spill so that no one would step in it and slip.

There was music playing in the pub, and a fast-paced, irreverent romp of a song collapsed unexpectedly into a pensive ballad. The complex, romantic lyrics were labyrinthian, each poetic line flowing seamlessly to the next. The female singer's wistful voice delved further into words of love and Clara found her own words of forced, pleasant conversation drifting off midsentence. Before she even knew what was happening, she felt the Doctor's fingers brush her hand where it hung at her side. "One dance?" His voice seemed vulnerable somehow. But that didn't happen. What did it mean? "It's not too much to ask, is it?"

"No," Clara agreed, slipping into a slight trance, letting him lead her to the center of the room. No one else was dancing, but it didn't matter.

Their posture seemed so polite and chaste at first. He held one of her hands while his other hand lightly touched her waist, but something shifted with the deepening melody. Clara moved closer and put her arms around the Doctor's neck, resting her head against his chest. There were two hearts beating very hard beneath his skin, and the sound was beautiful to Clara. The formerly unheard-of proximity of their bodies brought those ghostly goosebumps back to her flesh and she shivered.

"Are you cold?" The Doctor asked, his voice low and husky.

"No," she smiled as they swayed to the song. For someone who was known to exhibit such icy behavior towards others, the Doctor's blood ran ironically hot. Almost clinging to him now, she'd never felt such delicious warmth. "Just afraid," she admitted, torn between happiness and heartbreak.

"Afraid of what?" He asked, all pretense of avoiding a dangerous intimacy abandoned as he stroked her cheek and stared into her eyes.

"This," Clara replied rather obviously. "I'm, I'm sorry, Doctor, I can't—" Tears that felt all too achingly real begged to be released from her helpless body, and she turned to go.

He took her hand, not demandingly, but in the name of one last try. "Please, don't leave me," The Doctor asked, and then very deliberately he added, " _Clara_."

"What?" Clara almost jumped in shock. "Oh, no, no. You can't. I have to go."

She was practically stumbling down the sidewalk when he caught up with her, but he made no attempt to touch her again or walk beside her. He lingered just behind her, giving her space.

Clara stopped short and spun around, fury starting to replace surprise and fear. "How long have you known who I am?"

"Ah, now you're angry," The Doctor smiled in resignation. "There's the Clara I know. I figured it out after Nevada."

"Why did you pretend I'd fooled you, then?" Clara asked, desperately confused. "It makes me feel like an idiot."

"Don't do that," The Doctor said, annoyed by the way she almost spit the last words at him. "Don't make this something it isn't. You ought to know perfectly well why I'd keep up any pretense you wanted if it meant that I'd get to spend one more day with you."

Clara felt his sentimental words falling over the flames of her temper, extinguishing her irritation, her hurt feelings. Now, there was nothing but longing and despair. The knowledge that despite it all, she still had to walk away.

Yet, there was one more question eating away at her. "How did you know it was me? In Nevada?" Clara asked.

"If you'll trust me a little longer, I'll show you," he replied, but the words seemed to be difficult for him to say, as if he was the one who was afraid now.

Clara followed the Doctor back to the TARDIS and once again, to his room. This time, he let her in.

It was a lovely room. Well, basically a library with a bed in it, all told. Neat, organized collections of technical gadgets lined shelves on one side of the room, while on the other, a bookshelf was piled with hardcover books that surprisingly, on a cursory glance, all looked to be classic literature.

The Doctor, the sentimentalist. He never stopped amazing her, with every layer of himself he let her glimpse.

The whole room reflected a soothing color scheme of maroon and honey-hued wood. It was more than lovely. It was peaceful and downright cozy. And it was deeply personal.

As Clara gazed around in speechless wonderment, the Doctor pointed at a framed picture that sat propped upright on a corner table beside a soft, comfortable-looking chair. The only picture in the room. "That's what did it," he explained. Then he turned away from her.

Clara took the moment in for all it revealed as she struggled to process her feelings. It was a picture of her. Here, in the Doctor's cherished inner sanctum, the place he showed no one. And he was showing her.

She came up behind the Doctor and slipped her arms around him, pressing her head to his back.

"But you don't _remember me_ , remember me," she murmured. "You don't have all those memories of our travels together."

"Yes, I do," he corrected her. "I remember you, Clara Oswald. I remember every moment of you. It came back slowly at first, then it was like a deluge. Connecting the story of us with your face triggered it all again. The effect of the memory wipe wasn't nearly as strong as we thought it was. Either that, or my _need_ to remember you was enough to overpower any artificially rendered mind alteration."

"But why?" Clara asked, "Doctor, why did you need to remember me so fiercely?"

She walked around him so that she could see his face, and he looked down at her reproachingly. "Now, Clara, I believe there's one fact we've already clearly established, and that is that you are most definitely _not_ an idiot. And another brilliant idea I thought we'd agreed on was that we were done pretending. So don't _pretend_ not to know why."

"Now, Doctor," Clara answered delicately, "That is a brilliant idea. Let's put an end to every _bit_ of pretending between us." With that, she closed the distance between them and reached up to clasp the back of his head, drawing his face down to her own and then pressing her lips to his.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Clara," he breathed against her lips after just a split second of near-surrender on his part. "We can't."

But the air seemed to be vibrating with their mutual desire, and Clara's patience had officially run out.

"I know that. I just don't care anymore," she admitted. "I know there's a million reasons why this is a bad idea, but really, what does that actually _matter_ right now?"

"It _matters,_ Clara, because one of us has got to keep their head about them," the Doctor lectured, stepping out of her embrace and beginning to pace anxiously. "And make that a million and _one_ reasons." He came back to her and clasped her face with both of his hands, his long fingers nearly encompassing the petite curves of her cheeks. "I don't _do_ this, Clara."

"I know that," she said, her voice clipped.

"I don't get close, I don't let myself be overcome by emotions, and I don't make commitments to anyone, ever." His accusing glare was the shabbiest, most pathetic suit of armor.

"I never asked you for any damn _commitment_ ," Clara corrected him, offended.

"You never had to ask," The Doctor said unhesitatingly. "It's yours."

"Please," Clara reasoned, emboldened again by the refreshing shock of his honesty. "I just want to be with you. Even if it's just for—" Her words faltered, her lashes fluttering.

"Even if it's just for one night?" His beautiful voice, with that incomparable accent and way of _saying_ things, seemed to endow the words with a heavily sensual meaning that left her undone. This frankness of his was still so entirely new, and undeniably addictive to her. "You know that could never be enough."

"Can you feel this?" Clara asked, holding out her arm, rolling up her sleeve to grant him access. "Touch my arm." He shook his head but touched her ever so lightly.

"I'm dead, but I can _feel_ that. You can't feel the goosebumps, but they are there, Doctor. I'm gone, but I'm here, I'm _with_ you, and I need you. Like I never needed anyone. Do you think we'll ever have a chance like this again?"

"Oh, for goodness sake!" He paced again, pressing a hand to his forehead in an increasing panic. "What do you want me to _say,_ Clara?" His eyes were wide with passion and she was struck silent. "That I need you back, that I want you?" The words sent a thrill running up and down her spine, but he wasn't finished.

He stepped into her personal space again and added, his voice ragged with feeling, "That I _love_ you, Clara Oswald? Of course I do. I always have, and I'll never stop, and there isn't a—"

With that, she grabbed him by the collar and kissed him deeply, and this time, his arms went around her immediately, the pressure of his mouth against hers making her weak with craving for more. Clara slid his jacket from his shoulders as their mouths finally opened and their tongues met, running her hands up and down his back, lightly trailing her nails on his skin through the thin material of his t-shirt. The Doctor's breath caught and he pulled back slightly, gazing pleadingly at her as if she could somehow save him from giving into temptation. "Oh, shut up," she told him, and took his hand, leading him to the bed.

"Okay," he agreed gruffly, seizing her so quickly that she gasped, her legs encircling him as he lowered her to the bed. "Clara," he groaned softly in her ear as she felt for the first time the obviousness of his want of her, pressing against her as she raised her hips to meet the friction welcomingly. The Doctor shifted their position so that her head could rest on his pillow, the one he'd slept on for so many lonely nights, and she nudged their shoes off with her feet as their legs tangled.

If his body was warm, his lips were fire, emboldened with every kiss to venture further past the point of no return, as the inevitable and ever-irresistible push-and-pull of _them_ took over deliciously. Clara and the Doctor. She hadn't always been willing to accept that they were meant to be. Destiny could be intimidating that way. But now that truth was all she knew, all she ever wanted to know.

After years of wondering and wishing, it was all unraveling, finally, and nothing could be more satiating.

"Take this off," she murmured in a sultry fever, nodding down at her blouse.

"You're bossy," the Doctor whispered against her neck, and he began kissing and gently biting her eager skin, making her roll her eyes upward in surreal satisfaction as her teeth sank lightly into her lower lip.

"That's because we're just alike," Clara reminded him as he carefully undid each button of her sheer, black and white polka dotted top, moving far too slowly. She decided that he was teasing her and reciprocated by reaching down to stroke his arousal.

The Doctor gasped at the sudden jolt of pleasure and then actually blushed. "Clara! That's not fair."

"Good," she retorted. "Do something unfair to me."

Grinning, he peeled her black camisole over her head, her arms reaching up to acquiesce as her hair bounced around her shoulders. The Doctor sat there a moment and just stared at her, prompting Clara to ask, "What is it?"

He sighed and gestured down at her clothing on the floor. "I liked that outfit."

"I _knew_ you were lying about not being able to tell if someone looked nice," Clara accused him, pointing a finger at his chest.

" _Nice_?" The Doctor laughed. "Clara, how else was I going to be around someone as gorgeous and extraordinary as you every day without making it obvious how desperately I wanted to grab you and throw you down on this bed? I had to come up with _something_."

"Well, now here we are," Clara whispered.

"Yes, and as I said, I _did_ like that outfit," The Doctor continued, letting his fingers graze her clavicle before drifting down to the cleavage above her bra. "But I like this one better."

"How much better?" Clara said softly, her voice laden with undisguised yearning. She started to remove his shirt as his hands went to the back clasp of her bra. Just then, however, they were interrupted. The TARDIS shook for a moment and then jolted into motion.

"You have seriously _got_ to be kidding me," Clara complained as the Doctor's eyes flitted around, going back into investigative mode.

"It's not even a Tuesday this time," he griped as the TARDIS began shooting through space, taken over by forces unknown and heading who knew where.

"Doctor, I know we've naturally got some other things to handle at the moment, but let's be clear," Clara insisted, tipping his face towards her. "To be continued."

"To be continued," The Doctor agreed, indulging in one last searing kiss before they leapt up and she began to dress again.

Running to the control room, they both did a double-take at the course that had been locked in. "We're headed straight for Gallifrey," The Doctor observed incredulously.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"But why would the Time Lords just…TARDIS-nap us like that?" Clara wondered aloud.

" _Well_ ," The Doctor replied, drawing the word out, "The last time we met, we didn't leave on what I'd exactly call amicable terms. Still, this is a bit abrupt, even for them."

"What do you mean, _not exactly amicable_?" Clara inquired archly. She crossed her arms and smirked affectionately.

" _Oh_ ," The Doctor said, trying and failing to wrest back control of the TARDIS by pressing buttons and pulling levers that were wholly unresponsive. "I sort of deposed their really annoying, tyrannical leader and then left them to fend for themselves in the aftermath."

"Ah," Clara rolled her eyes. "Only that."

When they landed, the Doctor and Clara stepped out of the TARDIS and onto the hot, sandy climate of Gallifrey. Clara squinted in the glaring sunlight as a crowd of fancily dressed, severe-faced Time Lords came striding up to meet them.

"Hello, it's the Time Lord High Council!" the Doctor shouted, raising his voice unnecessarily as one does when addressing a confused, small child. "To what do we owe the pleasure of being unceremoniously seized and deposited on this sand heap?"

" _Doctor_ ," Clara muttered, elbowing him in the chest.

"Sorry, I haven't got the flashcards, and this lot are just as rude as me anyway," he replied smoothly. "They just cover it up with pomp and circumstance, that's all."

"Doctor. Clara Oswald," A stern woman who bore the appearance of being in her fifties but could have been many hundred years older stepped to the front of the group, clearly indicating that she was the new High Chancellor. "You will accompany us back to the citadel, where we will discuss your recent illegal and dangerous activities."

"Delightful!" the Doctor replied crisply. He took Clara's hand in his as they followed the other Time Lords back to the domed citadel, where they entered the Council chambers. The ornately-decorated gold and black room was imposing, like the complicated and uncomfortable-looking attire of the Council members…not to mention their sour faces.

"So, Ramilda," the Doctor greeted the High Chancellor when they were all seated around a massive, shining ebony table. "Congratulations on the promotion. I guess your thank you card to me must have gotten lost in the post."

"Humor will do nothing to diffuse the very serious and highly vital matters we are here to discuss," Ramilda replied grimly.

"Some things never change," the Doctor acknowledged, still very amused, to Clara.

"You're not taking this very seriously," Clara whispered.

"No, I'm not," he whispered back, prompting her to smile. She couldn't help it. The Doctor was in one of her favorite moods.

"Doctor," one of the other Council members inquired, looking utterly scandalized. "Have you taken this human as your _mate_?" His beady eyes were fixed on the Doctor and Clara's intertwined fingers on the table-top.

"Indeed, I have!" the Doctor replied happily. "Clara and I have decided to stop pretending we aren't in love with each other. Isn't that marvelous?"

"That absurd and ill-advised decision is but the latest in a considerable number of problematic deeds you've perpetrated of late," Ramilda observed. "The Council has been made aware of your careless lack of respect for our most basic rules of Time Travel. Granting the human Ashildr immortality. Allowing _this_ human, Clara Oswald, to elude her own very real death. Perilous impossibilities, Doctor. You also recently meddled with a fixed point in time on Ruille."

"Without causing any damage to the fabric of reality, which is quite impressive," the Doctor put in smugly.

"Still, the undertaking carried an innate danger which you should have heeded," Ramilda said firmly. "Worst of all, you have not only stolen this dead human from her permanent repose, but you have also elected to continue your extremely destructive relationship with her. One that has led to your being called by us, The Hybrid. Bringers of doom and—"

"Uh, could the dead human get a word in?" Clara asked.

Ramilda sighed irritably and nodded, impatient to continue her tirade.

"The Doctor did not steal me," Clara proceeded to explain. "I am not a parcel of goods. I'm a _person_. I'm his partner."

" _Partner_?" The other Time Lord, who had voiced his disdain for the Doctor and Clara's romance, pursed his lips in revulsion. "Could any term be better suited to describe the horrors that will undoubtedly be wrought should The Hybrid be allowed to continue traveling together?"

Clara scowled at the man's ignorant accusations. The Doctor stood, stroking his chin for a moment in thought.

"So, you brought us here to try and split us up," he finally said.

"Of course," Ramilda confirmed. "To do otherwise would be irresponsible, given recent events."

"We'll have to agree to disagree on that one, Mildy," the Doctor quipped tartly. "I've got a counter-offer for you, though."

"Is she going to like it?" Clara asked, leaning back in her chair only to find it was too rigid to allow for a more comfortable position.

"Definitely not," he smiled. "You are not only going to allow Clara and I to continue traveling together, but you're also going to help us with this whole _death_ predicament she's plagued with. I demand that you enact the ceremony of soul restoration!"

"You truly are mad," Ramilda accused, standing and crossing the room to stare the Doctor down face to face. "Why would we ever assist you with such a completely immoral procedure?"

"Is it immoral to give this woman her life back after she sacrificed it by taking on the criminal debt of another? I think such selfless bravery speaks for itself and more than earns her a second chance at life." The Doctor flipped his jacket away from his pockets, slipping his hands into them as he added with emphatic seriousness, "Moreover, if you refuse to help us with the ceremony, I will avenge myself upon you. And that, I promise, you will _not_ enjoy."

"What revenge? How outrageous!" Ramilda snapped, irate.

"Yes, now you're getting it!" the Doctor retorted. "But here it is, Mildy. You either do this for me, or I swear to you, I will do the one thing that really _would_ spell doom, far more than some insulting superstition of yours about a supposed 'Hybrid.'"

"And what is that?" Ramilda asked, perching her hands on her hips in disbelief.

"I. Will. Stop. Doctoring." The Doctor narrowed his eyes and Ramilda's hands fell by her sides as soon as he spoke the words. Finally, he'd made her speechless. "I will not travel in time and space anymore, and I certainly won't be out there saving the day for those in danger. How much damage will be done to the universe and the predetermined timeline if that happens, ay?"

Ramilda's cape flowed out around her as she spun and returned to the head of the table. "Arpaglian," she called to a servant standing in the background. The man stepped forward immediately.

"Take the Doctor and Clara to their lodging. The Council will remain to discuss the proposal he has set forth, and will let them know their determination as soon as it is reached."

"You do that," The Doctor said curtly as they were led away. Once they were safely put up in a lavish guest room, Clara looked around in surprise.

"I've got to say, I was expecting something more in the way of a jail cell," Clara admitted.

" _Nooo_ ," the Doctor assured her. "I've been trying to tell you. The Time Lords are all talk. You basically just have to put ideas in their heads until they do what you want them to. Dig through the bluster and that's all that lies beneath."

She sank into the bed, stretching out, and he lay down beside her, propping his chin up on his hands as he regarded her with utter contentment.

"Doctor, what is this…'soul restoration' you were on about back there?" Clara asked.

"Oh, quite simply, they are going to help us to bring you back to life. All the way back. We'll give you a little bit of Time Lord essence to help make it happen. As an added bonus, it will extend your normal human life expectancy quite a bit. As for Ramilda's indignant shock, not that it takes much to get that reaction from her, but the ceremony has only rarely been completed before."

"And where would this 'essence of Time Lord' be derived from?"

"Well, that would come from me," the Doctor said, suddenly withdrawing his gaze as he sat up.

"Right," Clara replied, sitting as well and taking his face in her hands so that he couldn't avoid her investigation. "Why is the ceremony undertaken so infrequently?"

"Well, partly because the Time Lords aren't in the habit of returning life to just _any_ dead person," he told her. "That goes against their whole philosophy. The ceremony was invented for emergency purposes only. But the procedure is also rare because it can be deadly to the Time Lord who provides his energy to make it possible."

She shook her head disapprovingly, but overwhelmed with affection at what he was offering her, she climbed onto his lap and kissed his mouth with every ounce of frustrated adoration that pulsed through her being. "I can't let you do that," she whispered.

"I could say a lot of things," he answered, running a hand through her hair. "Like that I won't give you a choice. I could lose my temper, get desperate, and act like a moron. I've got a history of that. It would be easy to make this all about me, how much I need you. But I'm not gonna do that. This is your decision, Clara. I only ask you to let me make one argument in favor of the ceremony."

"What?" She wondered, tilting her head to one side.

The Doctor kissed her and then lightly pressed his forehead to hers, invading her soul with his ardent gaze.

" _Please_ ," he begged her.

Clara shivered, tempted but torn. "What am I supposed to do if I lose you?" she asked. "At least, as we are now, we're together."

"For how long, Clara? You don't breathe. Your heart doesn't beat. You can't eat or sleep. You're quite literally not living and it's on borrowed time. This is our answer."

"The Council has reached its deliberation," Arpaglian's nasal voice rang out as he charged right into their room with no regard for privacy. Distracted by her conundrum, Clara was unfazed.

They followed the servant back to the High Council chambers, where Ramilda announced, "Though it pains me to have to accommodate such a reckless and potentially catastrophic endeavor, your _threats_ leave me little choice, Doctor. We shall assist you with the ceremony. Let us hope most fervently that you yourself survive. As you have proven with the potency of your ultimatum, the loss of you would be even more catastrophic than any other problems you may create."

Instead of sinking into the sort of giddy arrogance he usually thrilled in during moments of triumph over those he deemed pompous, the Doctor nodded silently. They followed Ramilda and the other Council members to a ceremonial temple. There, Clara and the Doctor sat down across from one another on large, golden slabs as the Time Lords surrounded them, creating a circle.

"Wait," the Doctor insisted, raising a hand. "Clara, have you decided?"

She looked at him and then around at the others, knowing that even though she _could_ turn away from this, she would not. "Alright," Clara said, her voice echoing loudly in the elegantly appointed temple. "I'll do it." He breathed a sigh of relief and grinned happily. She would have done almost anything to see that smile.

"But Doctor, if you die, I'll kill you," Clara added, and he nodded.

"That's fair."

The Council members joined hands, and the Doctor placed his hand on Clara's heart. Bright orange lifeforce energy began to emanate from the Time Lords as they closed their eyes and concentrated. Ramilda chanted ancient, florid verses as the whole scene began to go out of focus for Clara. Her vision blurred and she felt herself about to topple forward, relying on the steady strength of the Doctor, who held her arm with his free hand. But then his own body began to shake slightly, and it seemed as if they would both explode into smithereens, so strong was the power flowing all around them and inside of them.

"Doctor," Clara said through gritted teeth, working hard not to panic.

"Hold on," he replied, closing his eyes and enduring what looked like a great amount of pain as part of his essence was transferred to her own being. "Just hold on."

It felt like a massive storm swept through the room then, as wind blew hard and spiraled around them, culminating in a sudden silence that felt somehow as loud as a resounding boom.

Clara opened her eyes and felt an incredibly bizarre sensation in her chest, one she'd never expected to feel again. She took several deep breaths. Beneath the Doctor's shaking fingers, her heart was beating once again. The Time Lords began to silently retreat, but then the Doctor's body went heavy and limp in Clara's arms.

"Wait!" She called to the Council, realizing he'd fainted. "Is he going to be okay?"

"He needs rest," Ramilda said, nodding to indicate that the Doctor would indeed recover. Clara breathed a sigh of relief and enjoyed the feeling more than words could have said. How strange, and how wonderful, to feel a real sigh again after only being able to experience bittersweet echoes of such sensations the whole time she'd been in limbo.

When the Doctor woke hours later, he found Clara lying beside him, intently perusing a thick book. She saw that his eyes were open and smiled, sitting up. "Hello," she greeted him as he returned her smile wearily.

"Hello," the Doctor replied, reaching up to stroke her cheek.

"Did you know that Gallifreyan romance novels are quite the bodice rippers?" Clara asked, waving the book at him. "Used the sonic screwdriver to translate this one into English. Who would have guessed that these repressed schoolmarmy types were so…passionate?"

"Well, obviously not all Gallifreyans are as boring and serious as the High Council," the Doctor winked. "But I'm actually rather grateful to those unbearable snobs at the moment."

"Me too," Clara admitted softly. "So, how do you feel?"

"Fantastic," he lied pathetically, pulling himself up with some effort.

"You're exhausted," she corrected him, planting a kiss on his lips. "It's a good thing you've got me to take care of you."

"I thought _I_ was taking care of _you_ ," he teased. "After all, I just _brought you back to life_." He mimed a zombie-like motion that made her laugh before drawing her into his arms. She laid her face against his chest and sighed.

"That's never going to stop feeling good," Clara observed, referring to both sensations: breathing and touching him. "And did you notice?" She brought his hand back to her heart, where the formally stilled organ had resumed its work. "Seems to be beating rather quickly at the moment, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does," he agreed. "Why do you think that is?"

"Hmm," Clara smiled. "I think it might have something to do with the fact that I love you."

"I used to dream about hearing you say those words," the Doctor said after a few moments of contemplation, as they melted mutually into their embrace. "I never thought it was possible."

"But you must have known that I _did_ love you," Clara replied.

"There are a lot of kinds of love, Clara," he explained, a tinge of his former loneliness returning in memory to color his expression, the sadness that crept into his tone.

"Hey," Clara said, wanting to banish that sadness instantly, "If you need to be reminded just what kind of love I feel for you, and how much I feel it, I'll be happy to provide that reminder…as soon as you're fully recovered, that is."

"How very scandalous of you, Clara Oswald," the Doctor accused flirtatiously.

"You have no idea," Clara answered merrily, "but you will."

She grinned as he gave into another blush at her insinuations. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small object. "There i _s_ something I can share with you now, to show you how I feel," he said, unquestionably shy in his delivery of the words.

He opened his palm to reveal a ring, its gem a bright, glowing blue that dazzled her eyes.

"I bought this for you last year," the Doctor explained. "It's a Brenovian sea sapphire. They have a natural phosphorescence from the quality of the oceans on that world. It's a gem born out of the most beautiful, stunning waters in the universe."

" _Doctor_ ," Clara managed, words very nearly failing her. In fact, that was all she could think to say.

"So, naturally, when I saw it, I thought of you." The Doctor looked down at the ring nervously. "But I never thought I'd give it to you. It was sort of a crazy fantasy I kept in the back of my mind. I put it in a drawer and I used to take it out and think about one day asking you…something I thought I could never ask you."

"Asking me what, Doctor?" Clara asked, breathless for the first time since air had come rushing back to her lungs.

The Doctor knelt to face her on the bed, holding the ring up. "Clara Oswald. Will you marry me?"


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Of course I will!" Clara answered in a great gush of blissful excitement as soon as she could construct sentences again. "As if you even needed to ask!"

The Doctor still looked nervous, overwhelmed, and a bit shy. Clara had never seen anything so adorable and lovable, and so she couldn't help staring shamelessly.

He slipped the ring onto her finger and reasoned with gently amused obviousness, "Well, Clara, it was a proposal. By definition, I _did_ have to ask." He was looking down at their interlocked fingers, and she tipped his face upward with a kiss.

"This is all _a lot_ for you to handle, isn't it?" Clara asked. "After all, you don't do this." The allusion to his speech back in the TARDIS reminded her of the enormity of such a step on his part.

"Yeah, but believe me, I'll manage," The Doctor replied, his anxious and disbelieving features relaxing into a grin. "I am definitely _entirely_ unexperienced with this sort of thing."

"Commitment?" Clara wondered, "Emotional intimacy? Monogamy? Marriage?"

The Doctor chuckled before he replied, "Happiness."

Clara threw her arms around his neck and assured him, "You'll never be without it again. Not if I've got anything to do with it. You've been my hero, always, and I'll be yours, too."

"Partners?" the Doctor translated, quirking an eyebrow and smiling.

" _Partners_ ," Clara repeated emphatically.

By the next morning, the Doctor's strength had been restored. Clara came sweeping back into their room on Gallifrey with breakfast food heaped up in her arms, a cup of tea dangling precariously from two fingers.

"Good morning, _fiance_!" She greeted the Doctor, who was up and had just dressed. He grabbed the cup of tea right before it met its probable destiny of shattering on the floor, and they both laughed.

Clara laid the food on the table, thoughtfully organizing the different fruits and pastries as the Doctor watched her intent, sweet face with thoughtful affection.

"You seem really happy," he observed, the simple words clearly carrying deep meaning.

"Of course I am, what'd you expect?" Clara's voice was warm with reassurance.

"I woke up thinking last night might have been a dream, since that was the only idea that made logical sense," the Doctor admitted. "But there you are, and there's the ring, and there's breakfast and you're _here._ " He cleared his throat, emotional. "You're really here, Clara." He set the teacup down and gazed over at her searchingly. Like a conspiracy theorist looking for holes in the evidence.

Shaking her head, she came close to him and asked, "When are you going to relax and let that happiness you've finally opened yourself up to _in_?"

Clara touched her lips to his, smiling against his mouth as he gave into the moment instinctively. "Right now seems like an ideal time," the Doctor decided. "Especially since you taste like…" He kissed Clara's lips again, tantalizingly, too briefly. "Blueberry pie?"

"A Gallifreyan variation, all wrapped up in some kind of pastry I could _seriously_ get used to," Clara explained, their lips still inches apart, her body pressing closer to his.

"Did you like the dinner last night?" the Doctor's question was clearly tangential to the sensual body language and sizzling chemistry that was making them increasingly inseparable. Clara laughed softly at his attempt to cut the tension of the moment with a random subject change.

"I did," she replied, still in a coquettish trance mode. "It tasted like chicken. What was it?

"Oh, you ate _that_ part?" the Doctor's eyes widened. Clara frowned.

"What was it?" She demanded.

"Oh, I don't think you want to know," the Doctor said dismissively. Clara scowled and he admitted, "Oh, alright, it _was_ chicken. What makes you think Earth is the only planet with chickens?"

"Doctor, you're not exhibiting _chicken_ -esque qualities yourself, are you?" She draped her arms around his shoulders.

"Oh, yes, I definitely am," he confessed. "See, there's no more lying, no more agonizing repression. No aliens kidnapping us at the moment, though the day is young."

"I see what you mean," said Clara, slipping her fingers under his jacket lapels and grasping them fondly.

"In all of my many years," the Doctor said, suddenly serious, "I don't think any moment ever felt quite as intimate for me as this one. This _precipice_."

"Precipices," Clara reminded him, "Were meant for tumbling over."

"I've already been falling for so long that I don't think I'll ever stop," the Doctor clarified, running his fingers over her hair, her cheek, breathtakingly tender. "I don't want to."

"Good," Clara replied, using her hold on his jacket to pull him down to the bed, where they landed just in time for her to cover his face in kisses. "How does that feel, Doctor?" She murmured, sitting up, straddling him as his hands went to her hips. He stared up at her with those crystal blue eyes that contained whole universes full of everything wonderful. "You've been through an ordeal, to save me," she added, running a finger down his chest. " _So_ , how are you feeling?"

"Never been better," the Doctor answered immediately, prompting her to slip out of her navy blue sweater and bring his fingers to the laces that formed a bow at the top of her gauzy black shirt.

Instead, he pulled her down and kissed her deeply, reaching his hands under the shirt and stroking her stomach, her breasts, making Clara sigh. The Doctor unclasped her bra and pulled it out from under the shirt, tossing it aside as he finally pulled the laces and Clara's ability to maintain composure apart. The shirt soon joined her bra on the floor, and Clara pressed her bare chest against his much-too-clothed torso.

Impatiently whipping his jacket off, Clara turned to his white button-down shirt, neatly fastened right to the top. "I like this," she informed him as she slid her fingers easily down the buttons and pushed it off of his shoulders. "It's one of my favorite Doctor outfits."

"I didn't know you had favorite Doctor outfits," he smiled slyly.

"Well, you should," Clara winked. His fingers began to peruse her legs, caressing them before moving up to her thighs and then slipping under her black skirt, peeling her stockings down and then off.

"You and your _stockings_ ," the Doctor accused, his voice a low, sexy drawl. "You've got a lot to answer for, Clara Oswald."

"Whenever I put them on, whenever I put _anything_ on, I'm hoping you'll like it," she confessed, leaning down to kiss a trail down his chest and stomach, pausing at his waist to undo his pants and slide them down.

Clara lowered her mouth to pay the Doctor some attentions that soon had him raggedly sighing her name. He grabbed her by the waist and changed their position so that he was on top, and Clara gasped at the sudden and bold move.

"You really _are_ feeling better," She noted as he pulled her skirt off.

"So," the Doctor said, kissing her mouth, his own lips hot and demanding. "Much." He hooked his finger into her panties and moved them down to her thighs. "Better." When the Doctor moved his exploratory touch to Clara's warm, aching center, she almost buckled under the sweet release of pressure, all of her so-long-repressed need for him escaping in a blissful moan.

When he entered her in one long, easy thrust, Clara's breath caught as the ecstatic feeling of fullness and completion took her over. Their eyes met and locked as their movements, first slow and overwhelmed, became more deliberate, deeper, faster, until Clara threw her head back in a soundless cry, grasping the sheets while her body trembled in euphoria.

"Doctor?" Clara asked a few minutes later, resting her head against his chest, listening intently to her favorite sound. "There were other ways you could have brought me back. I know how you were planning to do it, before…before the neural block. So why choose the soul restoration ceremony?"

"You want to talk about that _now_?" The Doctor asked, humorously aghast, running his fingers through her hair, his other hand resting contentedly on her bare back.

"Why not?" Clara asked, propping her head up on her hand and gazing into his eyes.

"With this method, your life will last longer. How much longer, it's hard to say. Decades, centuries? Your aging will be slowed."

"Centuries? But we can't know?"

"It will unfold naturally with time. I'm sorry I can't give you more certainty of anything beyond my greed to keep you with me as long as is physically possible."

"You've got nothing to apologize for," Clara assured him. "What changed your mind about the dangers of us being together? And possibly becoming the Hybrid?"

"That answer's simple," the Doctor explained, "Being _without_ you, once my memories returned, showed me that it was far more dangerous for us to separate. I need you, Clara, as I've never needed anyone. The good we can do the universe far outweighs any consequence of our recklessness."

"Want to hear something reckless enough to make the Time Lord High Council shake in their boots?" Clara asked. He raised an eyebrow.

"Well, it doesn't take a lot to do that."

"How about these words," Clara proposed, "We've got a _wedding_ to plan!"

"So we do," The Doctor agreed. "Shall it be here, or back on Earth? What kind of a wedding has Clara Oswald always dreamed of?"

"I've hardly anyone back home," Clara said dismissively, sensitively. Hiding mixed feelings about how her mother couldn't be there, her father had become distant, her students were moving on without her. Maybe they'd all forget her in time. Would that be easier, given what she had become? The Doctor's partner. A woman who traveled through time and space and couldn't be depended on for a normal life any longer. Who didn't _want_ a normal existence, couldn't want it. "Let's have it here," she decided. "Show me a proper old-fashioned, traditional Gallifreyan wedding in all its glory. I bet there's a lot of crazy pomp and circumstance, right?"

"There is indeed," the Doctor laughed softly. "As long as that is truly what _you_ want."

"It is," Clara confirmed, nodding too quickly. Another pause came and went with them silently sinking into their comfortable embrace, caressing one another in continued disbelief of their happiness.

"Oh," the Doctor said suddenly, "I almost forgot to ask you something that's been lingering in the back of my mind since this whole madcap adventure began back in that bloody pub in London. How did you know that I was in dire straits, that I'd failed so cataclysmically on Ruille, when you came to get me? An act of mercy for which I shall forever be grateful, by the way."

"That!" Clara grinned. "I've been spending a lot of time with Ashildr lately. And she has her sources of information, let me tell you. There's not a morsel of intergalactic gossip I haven't been privy to. So when she told me what had happened, the temptation to drop everything and run to you was just too much to resist. I'm a bad girl that way, Doctor."

"I've always liked that about you," the Doctor assured her, his voice taking on that sensual lilt again, the one that made her twitchingly, tremblingly eager to resume exploring their passion together.

"Hmm," Clara pouted, a realization striking her.

"Don't you stick your bottom lip out like that," he warned. "there are consequences for that sort of thing around here."

"Good," Clara giggled. "But Doctor, I'm not mysterious anymore, am I? I l _iked_ being mysterious."

"Oh, Clara," the Doctor corrected her, "You are my Impossible Girl. No one could ever be more mysterious. Every day with you will be a delicious and exciting mystery I can't wait to spend a _very_ long time solving."

"So," Clara replied, blushing at his epic words, "When do you want to marry me, Doctor?"

"Uh…." the Doctor feigned indecision. " _Yesterday_."

Clara batted at him playfully; he caught her fingers and kissed them. "Yesterday is a little impractical even by your standards," she laughed.

"Tomorrow," he corrected himself. Clara's eyes widened. It was truly real, all of this.

"Absolutely perfect," she agreed, kissing his mouth and sliding fully on top of his body to begin yet another elated seduction. "Tomorrow."


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

It was twilight, and the sky was alive with vibrant shades of azure and lavender, layered as though with nature's most expressively joyous paintbrush, spread with as much beauty as Clara felt in her heart and soul this magical night.

As for her heart, it was pounding with luscious excitement that made her skin tingle and her toes curl and uncurl in their elegant white, kitten-heeled shoes. Clara looked down at her ivory, off-the-shoulder dress, fitted snugly to the waist, where it shot out in layers of gauzy fabric one might term downright dreamy. It was a daringly whimsical dress, it was a princess dress because Clara had surrendered, deliriously happily, willingly to the fairy tale her life had become. Her hair was arranged in curls on top of her head behind the jeweled headband that stopped just short of the word "tiara."

Walking up the path that wound to the top of the hill where the Doctor waited, Clara held herself back from running. She had only taken a few steps when someone came striding down to her. The last person she'd expected to see.

Her father.

"Dad?!" Clara shouted in disbelief, throwing her arms around his neck. Dave Oswald laughed and hugged his daughter back. "You're here," she murmured.

"Of course I am, darling," Dave replied, grinning, "We all are. He made sure of that. We wouldn't have missed this for the world."

"What do you mean, 'all of you'?" Clara asked, "And Dad, how are you so cool and casual about this whole thing, anyway? Do you know you're on an alien planet right now? Do you know who I'm marrying?"

"You know, most people are actually able to understand most things quite easily, if someone just explains them," Dave answered, raising an eyebrow archly.

"Yes, he is awfully good at explaining," Clara admitted, shaking her head in disbelief transitioning into an "of-course" mentality. "I'm sorry it wasn't me to explain, Dad. I think I didn't want to burden you, in case it was all too much."

"Don't ever think like that again," her father urged her kindly. "You're my daughter. I'm here for you, always."

Clara nodded, kissed him on the cheek, and slipped her arm through his as they turned back to the path towards the altar.

Atop the hill, Clara was only slightly less than totally shocked to see her students all seated, merrily chatting, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Tears filled her eyes as they met the Doctor's. While her gaze was filled with amazed gratitude, his roved over her with astonished adoration, taking in the sight of Clara in her wedding gown.

When she got to him, her father kissed her forehead and shook the Doctor's hand before sitting down with the others. The Doctor took Clara's hands and winked at her, rather cheekily, Clara thought.

"You," Clara whispered intensely. "You did all this for me."

"Of course I did, Clara Oswald," the Doctor replied simply. "I'd do anything and everything for you, for your happiness. They'll all be safely returned to their cosy little homes on Earth right after the reception, I assure you."

"Thank you, Doctor," she murmured, caressing his hands. "I couldn't be happier. And you?"

"The same," he answered, "My eyes are full of stars, Clara. Millions of them. And every single one bears your name."

With that, the officiant, a grumpy, disapproving Gallifreyan priestess who'd been persuaded nonetheless to perform the ceremony, began the old-fashioned and exotic words, culminating in the vows that didn't seem all that different from typical Earth wedding promises. Then they were forever united by their heartfelt proclamations that only reflected vows no words could ever approximate, the true devotion they had always borne one another and always would.

The Doctor leaned into Clara and whispered a strange new word in her ear. The most beautiful word Clara had ever heard. And she knew what it meant. It was his real name. Their secret.

"Doctor, you didn't," Clara breathed in surprise as he led her to the sight of their reception: the Time Lords' High Council chamber, the long table of which had been covered with every delicious item of food or drink imaginable, an extravagant cake sitting in the middle of the spread.

"Oh, yes I did," the Doctor winked again. "There's only a ninety-five percent chance we'll be caught, scolded and fined."

"I think you just like trespassing and causing mischief," Clara sighed, crossing her arms in faux disapproval.

"Don't you know it," he quipped, pulling her into his arms as a song rang out. A small band had set up in one corner of the room.

Clara's students came up throughout the party to hug her and bemoan, "Miss, I can't believe I can't tell anyone back home about this!"

"That's Mrs.," the Doctor would correct them, his voice warm with love for his new wife.

"You're damn right it is," Clara purred as she wrapped her arms around the Doctor's neck for a slow dance.

"I think the party's winding down," he said suggestively against her cheek, his fingers stroking her waist.

"Looks that way," Clara agreed, looking up into his eyes to see anticipation and desire that matched her own.

When they returned to their room, Clara sighed as the Doctor unzipped her dress and it drifted slowly down to the floor. "It's a dream of a dress," she said, affectionately laying it over a chair before returning to face him in her white matching undergarments, all covered in lace, white thigh-high stockings perfectly calculated to make him give her that look. The one that told her he'd never wanted anyone more, and that she was in for it.

With a worshipful glint in his eye, the Doctor sank to his knees, plucking her shoes off and placing them gently to one side. He reached up her legs, running his long, skilled fingers over her stockings before slowly pulling each one down. "Doctor," Clara managed in a tight voice as his mouth traveled from her thighs upward, kissing and licking her through her sheer panties.

"Mmm?" he asked, busy.

"Don't you dare stop," Clara replied, tangling her fingers in that wonderfully unkempt hair of his as he slid her underwear down and continued his relentless attentions. Her gasps turned into helpless moans, and then the Doctor picked her weak body up and laid her on the bed, where she bit her lip as waves of pleasure continued to vibrate through her veins.

"There's consequences for that sort of thing around here," Clara warned him, ripping off his black suit jacket and yanking aside his white shirt with no regard for the buttons that flew who knew where due to her impatient attack.

"I hope so," the Doctor said gruffly, kissing her lips with answering demand.

Clara treated his pants with an equal disregard for propriety, then sat on top of him as she pulled off her bra and threw it across the room, making it her turn to wink and his to gasp as she ground against his hardness.

"Clara," the Doctor called out in a blissful haze Clara decided to award by sliding him into her as smoothly and deftly as a hand into a warm and welcoming glove. She rocked her hips against him and he grasped her tightly as the rhythm began to build.

When the height of ecstasy overtook them, they both cried out and collapsed into each other, an automatic embrace as their limbs numbly entangled, love-drunk.

"That was absolutely naughty, even for you," the Doctor accused hoarsely when speaking abilities had just barely returned.

"Oh, is that the best you think I can do?" Clara whispered, nuzzling elatedly into his chest, his hearts beating so hard and fast against her ear.

"I never said that," he chuckled softly. "In fact, I'm going to challenge you to outdo yourself on every possible occasion, as long as you promise to do the same back to me, my Mrs."

"Oh, yeah?" Clara asked, running a hand through her now-messy hair, pulling her fingers back to slip between her lips as she pondered the idea. "Prove it."

Their happiness was complete, but the story of the Doctor and Clara was just getting started.


	9. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

 **Six months later**

Clara sat up in bed as the Doctor's quick footsteps sounded on the stairs. She was nervous.

Oh this place, this little apartment she'd once called hers, now it was theirs, and it had meant everything. Their own special refuge when they stopped to get a breath back between journeys. His bathrobe, the one she'd gotten him for Christmas, hanging on the back of the door. His adorable, sexy Doctoring clothes in her closet. Their home. Clara was so happy, but _so_ nervous. How was he going to react to her news?

He came bursting in, talking a mile a minute, a tray of breakfast for her in his hands. "Here we go, my love," the Doctor said, sliding the tray across her lap and pressing a kiss to her mouth. "If you can believe it, the market was completely out of portabellas and I had to use criminis. I don't know what you're going to think of the texture, but I think that with the goat's cheese, it's really quite—"

"Doctor," Clara interrupted, "I'm sure it's delicious. Thank you." He always made her breakfast in bed. If she'd let him, she suspected he'd make all of her meals and serve them to her in bed, like she was some sort of pampered sex kitten, which… _maybe_ that had definitely become just one part of her, and Clara liked it.

"Oh, dear," the Doctor tsked, "You've got something to tell me, haven't you. I was too mean to the newspaper boy again. I shrank your pants in the wash. I forgot our anniversary. But wait, our anniversary's nowhere near, I hung your pants to dry, and that newspaper boy needs to learn how to throw. So I've got no idea, none. What is it?"

"You tend to babble, you know that, right?" Clara laughed and took his face in her hands. "I have something to tell you, yes. You know how I've been feeling a bit tired and crabby lately?"

"Nonsense," the Doctor objected. "You're charming even when you're crabby. In fact, I like you acting like I usually do on a regular basis. It's refreshing."

"Oh, for goodness sake, you're impossible. Doctor, the way I've been feeling, all run down and queasy, these are symptoms. Do they make you think of anything?" Clara carefully placed the breakfast tray on her bedside table and crossed her arms over her chest, looking at him expectantly as the wheels turned in his head.

"The flu? Don't you people have injections for that, though?" The Doctor frowned. "Clara, have you not been injected?"

"Doctor!" Clara was at her wit's end. "Are you just being willfully ignorant, or has it never occurred to you that…"

His eyes grew enormous and he swallowed hard. "No."

"Yes," Clara chirped, bright-eyed, relieved he'd finally pieced it together. His hand went automatically to her stomach, already ever so slightly firmer and rounder.

"You're pregnant," the Doctor breathed, and she closed her eyes in a confused flurry of conflicted feelings, not sure if he'd be thrilled or upset for some reason.

"Yes," Clara repeated, opening one eye to see him grinning from ear to ear. He scooped her up in his arms and swung her around, the world spinning. "Oh, Doctor, slow down," Clara warned. "I'd hate to ruin the moment by getting nauseous again."

"Oh, Clara, my beautiful, gorgeous, brilliant Impossible Girl," the Doctor cheered, overjoyed. "We're going to be the best family ever."

"You're glad," Clara declared blissfully. "Thank goodness."

"Clara," the Doctor said, lowering her more carefully back to the bed, pulling her legs across his lap. "Could you have truly doubted it?"

"Well, you used to be afraid to even show me your room on the TARDIS, darling, so you can't blame me for thinking that a baby might be a little too much for you to handle without getting…"

"Scared?" The Doctor asked. "Clara, I'm terrified. But that only shows that I'm clever, you know. Only an idiot wouldn't be afraid of parenthood. But oh, Clara, this baby. They are going to look just like you and have all your kindness and none of my bad qualities. And can you imagine the _brain_ on this baby? Combining _our_ brains? Look out, worlds!"

"You're right," Clara remarked, smiling widely. She touched her belly and kissed the Doctor, "Look out, worlds!" Her eyes flitted back over to the omelet and juice. " _Now_ , what about that breakfast?"

 ***Sequel forthcoming!***


End file.
